


Hologram

by rikacain



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, urequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:17:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikacain/pseuds/rikacain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Alfred deals with one-sided love in the most unconventional of ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hologram

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about all the times I saw England using magic to curb his feelings for America, and decided to twist it about - which resulted in this. Minimum research was done in an attempt to submit the fic in time for Day 1 of the Sweethearts Week.
> 
> Concrit much appreciated and requested for.

America first met Arthur at Japan's house.

Japan had asked him over, a first of the many visits he had made before; usually he would go over without prior invitation for a night of gaming or two. It had been a pleasant surprise and America had immediately agreed - perhaps it was a newly released game that had garnered a many positive reviews, or Japan was finally taking initiative (not that he complained about it during world meetings) for once.

He was ushered into the room and instructed to lie on the mattress (futon, Japan called it) as the Asian nation deftly attached wires to his head. Virtual simulation, he had explained as he pressed buttons and twirled dials, I thought America-san would like to be a trial tester.

What game? America had asked.

You'll see, came the mysterious answer, his eyes betraying nothing. Now close your eyes.

Then he was standing up and the bed had fallen away; in its place was a school gate and a school building looming over him. He blinked and looked around wildly, marveling at the details on the nearby red brick walls, at the wind ruffling his hair and the ground firmly underneath his feet. The virtual reality felt so real and America was impressed.

He stepped through the iron wrought gates and surely that was the trigger to some event since someone was hurrying towards him. As he drew closer, Americs could make out several features - blonde, messy hair, green eyes and thick eyebrows and America knew.

'England?' he tried to say, but nothing came out. England skidded to a stop in front of him, panting harshly as America panicked over his apparent muteness.

"You must be the new student," he smiled at America and something throbbed. England never smiled at him anymore, only frowns and scowls and harsh words. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, the school council president," he continued, holding out his hand.

America immediately took and shook it, a smile involuntarily spreading out on his face. 'I'm America,' he tried to say, but it instead came out as, "I'm Alfred, Alfred F. Jones! Nice to meetcha, Artie!"

(It's all scripted, Japan explains apologetically after America asks. Neither brings up why England.)

"It's Arthur," 'Arthur' scowled and it was the world meeting all over again, but then he turned around and beckoned for America to follow. "Well, come on then. We haven't all day to chat. I'll show you about."

(As America leaves a full day later, he doesn't ask either.)

o.o.o.o.o

As a day passed into weeks and months and a year, even America realized he was unable to keep up this routine forever. His boss had noticed the extreme frequency of the trips he made to Japan's house, some lasting up to a week or so, and had bluntly dropped the comment that while he was pleased that his country was focused on improving international relations, there were other countries he could (should) consider visiting. America could not balance his time between real life and virtual reality, and thus an alternative had to be found.

He drifted about conventions for technology, for games and for no reason at times. Virtual simulation had become a successful medium of games, the Japanese characters splashed boldly across the immersion capsules (how time have passed) that were littered about in arcades and people all over the world giving rave reviews. America listened to a group of Swedish game developers promoting their sequel to an extremely successful survival horror game (he almost wanted to try it out); a cluster of British critics openly shooting out their harsh criticisms; a huddled mass of people, discussing a Japanese idol's concert employing holograms -

That was it. Holograms.

On his return, a room was cleared, tiled and painted pitch black; a company was called in to set up the equipment and program in the codes, typing at a furious pace. America rung Japan up, asking for Arthur's personality codes and keyed them in himself, altering certain functions to arrange for a wider range of reactions and responses.

(Take it, Japan had softly said, your opinion as a trial tester has been extremely invaluable.)

The door clicked behind him and he locked it for good measure. The room was shrouded in complete darkness, the sound of his heartbeat and breathing amplified, and an underlying sense of vertigo pervaded the back of his head, creeping out-

He pressed the button.

The room hummed and colours flickered to life before settling into a familiar setting - Arthur's home. He quickly sat down onto a pre-placed couch, activating the trigger for the first event - which happened to be Arthur walking in, and immediately spotting Alfred on his couch. His expression shifted to one of perplexion as he opened his mouth to say something; only to be interrupted by Alfred jumping up and bounding over.

"Hey man!" It came naturally now, the rules of virtual simulation now at the tips of America's fingers, "I'm Alfred F. Jones, your new roomie! You are?"

"Arthur Kirkland," he answered clippedly, a hint of bemusement leaking through his tone. "A pleasure to meet you."

But as America made to grab his shoulder, the hologram shuddered and broke into pixels over pixels; and America realised in between the flurry of triumph and success -

It was still, not enough.

o.o.o.o.o

"...system initialising. Receptors on standby. Response modules active. No virus detected. Commence programme code 2304?"

"Commence."

"Response positive. Commencing programme."

America briefly looked over to Arthur before returning his attention to the monitor before him, keeping an eye out for any possible anomalies or errors. Nothing, nothing at all was allowed to go wrong this time - not after relations with the United Kingdom (of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Arthur's voice supplied) had regressed to a mere Special Relationship in name (not that there was much relation for them to hold on to in the first place); and not after years of wanting to touch and scattering pixels. Even though Arthur's company was more than enough as he looked through the amount of paperwork his bosses wanted to go through with him, once in a while America would fly over to Japan's house to borrow the virtual simulator for a day just to feel, as fake as it actually was.

Then technology took another leap forward and androids came into fashion. From the very first model with hard plastic skins, set emotions and harsh, grating voices, progress developed semi-elastic microfibres tightly woven together in small strands to imitate its human counterpart, faces able to emulate emotions and smooth rolling voices capable of a wide range of pitch, tone and pace. The androids then branched out to specialise in different areas - in the music industry, in the maintenance and upkeep of buildings, equipment and machinery, in the lower dregs of society as bodyguards and even prostitutes; they were almost everywhere.

America had first been reluctant about the notion of an android, but the severely outdated hologram projector was growing older and older regardless of America's constant maintenance and yet again, an alternative had to be found. He drummed his fingers against the table, impatient for this new step in something he was not too sure about himself when finally, finally, the screen went blank and indicated a shut down.

He whirled around and went straight to the table where Arthur lay, with eyebrows just the right size and texture, hair the right shade and eyes crafted painstakingly to perfection. The android blinked itself awake, slowly got off the table and registered its surrounding, turning to immediately greet America; only to be pulled into a bone-crushing hug. America buried his face into his neck and gripped tightly.

"You're awake, Arthur!" America grinned, pulling back and away. "Welcome back to the land of the living!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Arthur had asked politely in return. "But who are you?"

"So mean, Artie!" America hugged him yet again, unable to stop himself from touching.

"I'm your husband."

o.o.o.o.o

It has been several years since Arthur first met his husband and there were quite an amount of peculiarities.

The first was his husband's extreme reluctance to let him outside of the house. Arthur knew very well that he was an android, and were androids not supposed to help their owners? Cooped up inside the residence, Arthur had resorted to cleaning, organising and recharging his energy source whenever he should, and on attempt even tried cooking.

That brought him to another point - that attempt of cooking had failed but not in the way Arthur had anticipated. His taste receptors had told him that the food he made was edible for consumption, delicious even - but when Alfred had tasted it, his face fell and muttered a hesitant 'It's... Good.' For the rest of the meal he pushed the food around, taking a nibble or two but not eating, and eventually the meal was disposed of.

Arthur did not cook again after that.

The third was a time his husband had came home drunk. He had stumbled into the room Arthur was in, immediately latching onto the android and calling him 'England'. Arthur was more than baffled - why would he call Arthur a country of all things? - before Alfred began kissing him rather heatedly and the response modules took care of the rest.

There were others too - he was not allowed in the storage, and the rules implemented made sure of that. He was not also allowed into another room that he once peeked into, and found it to be painted pitch black. It was a perplexing affair, and soon enough Arthur decided he would not dwell on it.

But the most concerning thing of all was his lack of purpose. There was never any pressing things to do, anything to indicate his function other than 'Alfred's husband' and even he himself did not feel that way at times. He remembered moments of interacting with Alfred that felt like he was not talking to Arthur himself, but someone else. This unnerved him greatly, but he could never bring it up to Alfred.

So as for now, he smiles and nods and reciprocates, but still wonders.


End file.
